


premonition

by bombcollar



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: Lothric sees visions in his dreams, but sometimes what isn't said makes the largest impact of all.





	premonition

"Good morning, my Prince... Have your dreams yielded any revelations?"

Lothric says nothing, staring at the window curtains as the priestess lights the votive candles at his bedside, filling the room with a dim red glow. It was known among the clergy that the prince saw visions as he slept, particularly during fevers when the heat of the First Flame burned most intensely within his soul, as if calling to him. His delirious recountings were written down, their meanings debated between the priesthood for hours on end. Typically there was little agreement, unless the visions were particularly apocalyptic.

Eventually he murmurs, "Yes."

"Oh, wonderful, I shall call the scribes in shortly-"

"No," he interrupts, raspy, tucking his covers back over his head. The bed, with its black linen sheets and heavy, embroidered curtains, is practically the size of a small continent, though Lothric insisted on scrunching himself up into the furthest corner of it.

Unease creeps across the priestess's face, and she turns to him. "Does something trouble you, my Prince? What did you see?"

But Lothric does not respond, other than to curl up tighter, tucking his head in, shoulders trembling. His response worries her. Usually the prince shared his visions eagerly, even those involving all-consuming, devouring darkness. What could he have seen that would trouble him so that he dared not speak of it?

When no further gentle prompting will get him to speak, she rushes off to tell the rest of the clergy. The news is met with just as much concern and clutching of prayer beads. If the prince would not speak, how could they know what to expect? How to prepare? Was it war? Famine? A plague? Representatives from the three Pillars are called to meeting, each proposing theories worse than the one that came before, discussing what might be done if it came to such catastrophe. Fear hangs in the air like a miasma, threatening to ignite.

Meanwhile, Lorian prepares tea, mixing several spoonfuls of honey into the mug he brings to his brother, still curled up in bed. He sits beside Lothric, helps him lie back against the pillows. The weather has been damp lately, hellish on his joints. Lothric holds the mug in his spidery fingers, lifting it to his lips to drink.

"...everyone's terribly worried," Lorian tells him, folding his hands over his stomach as Lothric sips the tea, lying back and looking at the ceiling. "I know you don't want to talk about whatever it was you saw, but I can promise, whatever is coming I won't let anything happen to you."

Lothric gives him a weary smile. "Oh, no," he croaks, then clears his throat. "No, there's nothing to worry about."

"There isn't?" Lorian turns towards him, his brows knitted, frowning in confusion. "Everyone's been losing their minds all day, I thought you told them something awful was coming?"

"I didn't. I just didn't want to talk about my dreams. My throat was sore." Another sip. "...it feels better now though, thank you." It was hardly his fault that they'd jumped to conclusions. Perhaps next time they wanted to interpret his dreams, they'd ask for his input as well.


End file.
